


We're Really Cookin' Now

by KylaraIngress



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Challenge Response, Friends to Lovers, Hallmark Movie Fic Challenge, M/M, POV First Person, leap home AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KylaraIngress/pseuds/KylaraIngress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al decides to help Sam get a woman post-leap by teaching him how to cook. But the real cooking is between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Really Cookin' Now

**Author's Note:**

> Previously published in the zine _Variations on a Theme: The One That You Love_ and written in the early 2000s. The theme of the zine was to use lyrics of the Glen Frey song, ["The One You Love"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qmV9vk2950o) somewhere in the story. It didn't have to reflect the story at all, and I 'cheated' by just having it background music. 
> 
> Publishing it now as a combination of "Throwback Thursdays" and to answer [ "The great Hallmark Movie fic challenge"](http://kylaraingress.tumblr.com/post/97072040502/the-great-hallmark-movie-fic-challenge), as the basic scene of Al teaching Sam to cook was rightly ripped off a Hallmark romance movie I caught one time, the title of which has been lost to the netherworld. (A man and a woman - she has a kid I want to say? - end up inadvertently sharing a summer rental home. Of course, they hate each other at first, and then fall in love. If this sounds at all familiar to you, PLEASE comment with the title and I will update this.)

"How long has it been, Sam?"

"Al!"

"I mean, it's been what? A year since the divorce, and you haven't even TRIED going out with other women from what I've seen." 

"I'm . . . I'm just not ready yet, Al."

"And how long since you've had sex?"

"Al! I think that's a rather personal question."

"And that tells me it's been too long." Al Calavicci stepped back from the spaghetti he was making on his stove, and turned to his best friend and current target for his cross-examination, me. Using the ladle as a pointer, he continued, "I know you're like this super moral guy, Sam, but a guy has needs. I know, y'know." 

Meanwhile, I sat back on the one of the bar stools that lined the island of Al's kitchen, took a swig of beer, and watched him cook. While I wasn't really up for 20 questions about my love life (or lack thereof), I also knew that Al's cooking was better than anything I could hope to order in or nuke. And after a year's worth of attempting my skills on cooking (and failing about as miserably as I had on my love life), I was seriously craving a home-cooked meal. "Yeah?" I finally fired back. "How would you know how it feels to have gone long without sex?"

"Well, I did have those six years in 'Nam, Sam," Al said, not as petulant as he could've. 'Nam was usually a sore subject to Al; he didn't talk about it much.

But this time, it was different. This time, I was not in the mood to feel guilty – I was tired of Al giving me grief about women, and was desperately wanting to change the subject so Al wouldn't suspect the real reason behind my lack of female companionship since leaping home. So, I didn't give the expected apology. Instead, I gave Al a steely look and replied, "I said to go long without sex. I didn't say anything about women. Or was the concept of two warm bodies just not good enough for your First Mate there?" And to emphasize, I pointed the bottle in the direction of Al's crotch.

This time, it was Al's turn to look scandalized. "Sam!" he sputtered, and quickly turned back to the spaghetti. With his back to me, he continued, "I'm shocked you'd even consider the fact that I . . . that I . . . ."

"That you might've batted for the other team once in a while?" I finished for him, swallowing a grin at Al's shock at my use of coarse language. While I wasn't quite wanting to get into this topic of conversation, I needed to know if his feelings about gays had changed since that blasted leap at Prescott. "Don't look so shocked, Al," I grumbled. "Every guy thinks about it from time to time." _Hell, some of us think about it ALL the time_ , I thought. Well, time for Real Confessions. "I'll admit, even I was involved in my share of circle jerks in high school."

"SAM!" While part of me was upset that he'd find that shocking, another part was giggling silently as I watched Al's back tense and give a slight shake at his unease over the conversation topic. Then, a shy glance over his shoulder was followed by the soft whispered question, "You've thought about . . . it?"

I couldn't help it. I laughed. "I can't believe it!" I said, pointing to the flush of his cheek. "After God-knows-how many years of being your friend, and all the tales you told me on the leaps, I finally have you flustered over SEX?"

"When the sex you're referrin' to is sex with other MEN, damn right I get flustered!" Al sputtered out in his anger. "I mean, I know I changed my views on gays in the military after you helped that kid from Prescott, but that doesn't mean I'm any more comfortable with it."

I should've known better. "Oh, give me a break!" I countered, getting up to leave. As much as I wanted to be his friend, I wasn't sure if the friendship would last if he was still so bigoted. Especially when it was about . . . . 

"Oh, hold onto your horses," Al said, withdrawing from the cooking long enough to show me he wasn't really upset, and I gave a small sigh of relief. "Look, I don't wanna talk about that anyway. I invited you over for a reason. I think it's time."

"Time?" I asked, not quite sure I wanted to know, and slowly sitting back down.

"Yeah," he said, turning back to the cooking once he saw I was settled. "You've been home now for a little over a year, right?" I gave a slight nod, following. "And Donna divorced you just a little over a month after you came home, right again?" I gave another slow nod, starting to see where he was going with this. "And since that time, I haven't seen you with any other women."

"Al," I started, ready with my standard excuses I've been giving him.

"And while I know you need your time to adjust," Al plowed on, "I also think you've had enough 'time' to last you five lifetimes. It's time."

"Time for what?" I asked, flustered.

"To start dating women again."

"Al . . . ."

"Nope. I won't hear another word about it. And I've got the perfect plan."

"The perfect plan?" I asked, more than a little wary. 

"Tina's got this friend . . . ."

Great. I thought he and Tina had broken up.

"Al, I . . . ."

"Now hear me out. She's got this friend who has been dying to meet you, ever since you graced _Time_ _Magazine_."

"She has?" Doubtful this time.

"She has. But you've never been available at the same time she was. Before Donna, she was married to some shyster from the East. And then, you were married to Donna. But now, you're a free man."

"Al, I'm hardly free." 

"Ha-ha, Sam. But, to get back to the subject at hand, she thinks you're cute."

"She does?" Even more doubtful.

"And we are going to have a double date."

"We are?"

"We are." 

"And there's nothing I can say to change your mind?"

"Nothing I can think of."

"So, this plan of yours . . . ." 

"Oh, we haven't even gotten to the plan," Al said with a smirk. "The plan is . . . you're going to cook for her." 

I think I must've done the best spit-take ever.

"C'mon, kid. You won't believe how successful it's been for me. You cook for a woman, and pretty soon everybody's cookin'." 

"Al!"

"Cooking is a very sensual art, Sammy. The only thing more romantic than cooking FOR a woman is cooking WITH a woman."

"But Al," I tried to reason, "you've tasted my cooking. The only thing it'll do is have you all running for the stomach pumps."

"Now there's a romantic image."

"Well, it's true!" 

"I know it's true, kid. That's why I'm going to teach you how to cook."

"W . . . what?" I couldn't help but hear him in my mind, repeating, _You cook for a woman, and pretty soon everybody's cookin'_ , and wondering – briefly – if that went for men as well.

"Not tonight," Al continued, grabbing a couple of spices off the rack for the meal. "I mean, as good as my spaghetti is, it is NOT the meal for a seduction. Not to mention the fact that seduction dinners need a tad bit more planning. I'll need to get to the Farmer's Market to get fresh supplies, and the meat market I go to is only open on Sundays . . . ."

"Whoa!" I cried, stopping Al's line of thoughts. "What ARE you going to teach me to make?" 

Al turned, spatula at the ready, and gave a smile. "Next Friday, Sam, you're gonna come over and learn how to make the seduction dinner that's guaranteed to get someone to sleep with you."

"Al!"

"Serious, kid. It hasn't failed for me yet."

"Uh-huh," I said doubtfully, and took another sip of my drink. "And this seduction feast would be . . . .?"

"Creole, Sam. Hushpuppies, blackened chicken, and a side of okra, all served with the finest Dom Perignon money can buy."

"Champagne?" This said with more than a twinge of concern.

"Oh, don't you worry about my drinking problem. It hasn't been a problem for quite a few years now, if you haven't noticed."

"I know, Al, I just worry."

"Well, I worry about you, too, kid." This said hesitantly, looking away from me. "You haven't been quite the same since coming home, and I just want to see you happy." 

"I am happy, Al. I'm home, aren't I?" _And with you_ , I silently added. Even if it wasn't how I had envisioned. 

"Yeah, you sure are," Al said, and as if to assure himself, he brought me into a hug. A hug I didn't exactly melt into, but grabbed as much as I could.

"So Creole, huh?" I said after they broke the hug.

"And you'll get your ashes hauled because of it, or my name isn't Al Calavicci."

"AL!"

*********

Next Friday, I stood outside Al's apartment, my hand poised to knock. The double date was scheduled in a month (Al's judgment time for how long it would take me to get the recipe right enough to not kill any of us), and I found myself in an interesting conundrum. While I wanted to spend as much time as I could with Al, it wasn't exactly for double dates. And I wasn't quite sure if I was ready for a lesson in seduction from one Al Calavicci.

But the decision was out of my hands as the door flew open, Al saying, "I thought I heard you shuffling out here, kid. Come on in." But I couldn't move, dumbfounded by Al's choice of clothing for this evening's activities. The white silk shirt with the red trim was hugged in closely by the lavender metallic jacket and offset by the black jeans and his military boots; each item of clothing a color disaster, but somehow, on Al, it worked. Just like each of his fashion creations.

"Al?" I asked hesitantly, letting my gaze drift over his body.

"Hey, the appearance is what makes or breaks a date, kid." 

Date? Did he just call this a . . . oh, boy. "But it's just you and me . . . right?" 

"Yeah," Al said, drawing a sigh from me, "but I figured I was gonna act like tonight was the real thing, so you could get some tips on the other side of cookin'."

"Well, I guess I should've brought you flowers, then," I joked to get past the awkwardness, and walked into the apartment. "But you're wearing jeans," I continued, questioning. 

"Button fly, kid – easy access." 

"I knew I shouldn't have asked," I continued, shaking my head in tolerance and continuing my trek into the kitchen.

"Now, if this were the real thing, we would already have the gumbo cookin' when the girls arrive, so the smell is already prevalent when they walk in. But, since you'll need to know how to cook that, too, we'll have to wait on that."

"Gumbo?" I asked, stunned as I finally walked into the kitchen and saw the plethora of pots and pans and ingredients that lined the various counter space. "You didn't mention gumbo." 

"Gotta have an appetizer, right?" Al walked around to the opposite side of the island, and continued, "Take off your coat, kid, and turn on the lite FM station while you're in there, 'kay?"

"Okey-dokey," I said, and walked back out to the coat closet. On my way back through the living room, I stopped at the radio, clicked it on, and spent a few minutes playing with the knob until I got what I wanted.

"Someone's gonna cry when they learn they've lost you, someone's gonna thank the stars above," Glen Frey sang, and I gave a wry grin as I thought of this future double date and how I would thank the stars above if Al would just . . . .

"Ah, great song," Al said from the kitchen, unknowingly interrupting my thoughts. "I remember this one time, who was it with . . . uh . . . Brenda whenever she heard this song, she would . . . ."

"AL!" The grin turned into a sigh as I realized I was more likely to cry than thank the stars above with THIS relationship.

"Kid, you are just too moral for your own good," he teased. "It's not such a bad thing to wanna make love to a beautiful woman, y'know."

 _Of course you'd say that_. I couldn't help but smile at the familiarity of the comment, though. Should've expected that side of Calavicci to pop up tonight. "But you're just so . . . obvious about it."

"That's because you get so flustered by it," he said, popping his head around the kitchen wall. "You look kinda cute when you blush."

"AL!" Did he just call me . . . .

"See?"

I turned away so he wouldn't see the smile creep up on my face at the compliment, no matter how backward it was. Could I do this? Could I go through this charade, just to save face? "Let's just get cooking, okay?" 

"Yeah, kid. Soon as you get your hands washed, we'll start you cutting up the celery for the gumbo."

*********

It was a half later; the gumbo was simmering nicely, filling Al's place with the smells of sausage, peppers, and cayenne, and I was actually . . . enjoying myself. The island was now clear, and Al was rooting around in his pantry.

"So, what now?" I asked. "I mean, the gumbo doesn't seem to be too deadly. Maybe I can cook after all."

"Nice try, kid," he said with a grin. "WE did the gumbo, and even if you pull this off, that doesn't make you an instant cook." He tossed me a wet washrag to clean down the island and said, "Okay, well, let's go to the other side of this seduction, shall we? I mean, since we'll be cooking with the women, there's gonna be more going on in here than cutting up vegetables and measuring ingredients."

I gave a slight wince, not sure where Al was going with this. "So . . . ."

"First thing when cooking with someone, kid, is placement. Now, since I'm the smaller of the two of us, I'll have to be the woman." 

"Now that's something worth visualizing," I couldn't help but giggle at the visual of Al in a dress. 

"Sam!"

"What?" I countered. "You've seen ME as a woman often enough." _And couldn't stop oogling the female aura, either_ , I internally snapped.

"True," Al said. Thoughtful, he continued, "Too bad you never stayed long enough to see whether it was your body or your aura that was leaping around."

"WHAT?!?" I screeched, suddenly VERY glad that the closest to THAT activity I got when I was a woman was in a half-hearted kiss.

"Sex definitely would've proven it," Al countered with a wicked gleam.

"And you were giving me grief about homosexuality?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Well," he hedged, "that would've been different."

"Yeah?" I asked. "How?" 

"It would've been you," he said evasively, not quite answering the question. "I mean, YOU'RE not gay," he finished.

"Oh," I whispered, not quite ready to tell him otherwise. After all, Al's not stupid. He would make the obvious conclusion when I told him I was . . . open to alternatives as to who I was thinking of the most. I continued looking at him, hoping he would give me a clue on how to proceed on this subject, when I decided it was time to change it. "Placement, huh?"

"Yeah," he said, obviously relieved to get back to what he knew. "Part of the allure of cooking is in the tactile aspects, and in this kitchen and with these ingredients, space and touch will only be to your advantage. Any time you can, you'll want to touch," he said, laying his hand on mine – as if to give an example. "When passing things, make sure the hands touch an extra second longer," and he handed me the bag of cornmeal. Suddenly, I was very glad I was facing the island, as the caress he gave my hand as a result produced in me a very . . . manly reaction. I barely held onto the bag as I placed it on the surface. "Even when not touching," he said, his voice lowering to his gritty sexy voice, "always keep a close proximity," and he released my hand, but stayed in my 'personal' space, making my reaction even worse. 

I turned a little toward him to gauge his reaction, and took a deep breath as I watched his eyes scrunch, letting those dark brown pools become bright pinpoints of light. I barely held back my groan of desire.

Suddenly, as if he realized WHO he was with, he shook his head, and took a step back. "Uh, why don't you open up the cookbook and start measuring the cornmeal; I'll . . . uh . . . I'll start chopping up the onion," he said, careful not to look at me.

Not sure what exactly happened, I nodded – not quite ready to speak yet.

"Uh, what were we talking about?" he asked, calmer now that he was away from me.

"Proximity," I finally answered, and grimaced at the squeak in my voice. "And the 'other side of this seduction'," I quoted back to him.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Uh, well, give me some of your lines."

"My lines?"

"Yeah. You know, for women? What do you say to one when you're trying to get one inta bed?"

"AL!"

"Jeez, Sam. Don't give me that innocent choir boy act. You weren't exactly celibate on the leaps." He turned to me and gave me a lewd wink, saying, "Again, act like I'm the woman. What would you say to me?"

I gave yet another internal sigh, knowing we were about to cross that invisible line; that is, unless we already had. Al had returned back to chopping onions, thank God, and I pretended to be reading the cookbook as I thought over all the things I would say to him if I could. "You're beautiful, you know," I said, hoping he would realize I was saying it to him, yet at the same time praying he'd think it was part of the 'game'. 

"That's good," Al said, not deviating from the task at hand. "What else?"

I turned back around, grabbing a measuring cup. "You're also charming and gentle and brilliant." I gave a half laugh as I realized I had said it. I was able to compliment him without him feeling threatened in any way. And with that positive thought, I started to level off one cup of the cornmeal with my finger.

"No, no, no!" Al cried, making me jump at his excitement. "You don't wanna do it THAT way!"

"Huh?" I asked, thrown. "But the recipe says two cups," I explained.

"Yeah, but no good cook actually uses a measuring cup," he said, washing off his hands and turning back to me. "A good cook feels the measurements, Sam," he said, and quickly slipped in front of me. Grabbing my arm, he moved my right hand with his into the meal, continuing, "He feels it in his heart, not his mind," and as he moved our hands deeper into the silky soft ingredient, he inadvertently forced me to move right up against his back.

I slowly let my breath out, wincing slightly as I saw the back of his hair – the one part still slightly curly – move against my breath. The arm that wasn't intertwined with his in the bag on the island was curled up against his side. Almost unconsciously, it began to rub his hip, and I couldn't resist the urge to bring my head in closer to his. Like before, with that simple touch, my body was reacting in ways I hoped he wouldn't notice. Of course, this time, he was trapped between me and the island, and so the bulge that was in my slacks was NOT hidden from his notice.

What shocked me, though, was his reaction. Not a slap, not a punch, not a word of condemnation, but . . . but a slight groan of approval. I took that for the incentive that it was, and ever-so-carefully brought my left hand from his hip to a more significant part of his anatomy. And smiled as I felt I wasn't the only one sporting a hard-on. 

"Uh, Sam?" Al questioned, and slightly straightened up.

I knew what he was going to say. He was so scared of what this situation represented, he was bound to try and brush it off. So, I countered, and quickly.

"Shh," I said quietly, and pushed gently into his ass. "Don't say anything. Just . . . just let me have this moment, then we can go back to how we were."

"Sam . . . ."

"Shush, now," I said, letting my lips tickle his ear. I looked up and witnessed his eyes clench as a result. Our hands sunk in the cornmeal had continued to caress each other, moving against each other as I wished our bodies would. Meanwhile, his other hand had kept a strong push up against the island, keeping him steady. 

"Sam . . . ."

"Please, Al," I sighed, giving into the urge and nipping at his neck, "you are beautiful," I had to say, had to let him know, "and if there was one thing I wanted to be happy, it would be for you to give me this moment."

"I can't," came the strangled sound from his mouth, and I couldn't help the whimper that echoed out of mine as a result.

"You can't?" Even I could hear the disappointment and heartbreak in my voice.

"No," he said, and turned to face me. And instead of condemnation, I saw . . . I saw love. "I can't, because I would want more than just this moment." And with that, he reached up and gave me the one thing I had desired since coming home – claim to his lips. 

In all my wildest dreams (and since coming home and realizing that I was in love with my best friend, I've had some pretty wild ones), his lips never were so good. I could feel the Calavicci charm flow as he worked his jaw and his tongue both on me, and despite being the one holding him against the island (AND being the taller of the two), I knew I was at his complete mercy. 

I whimpered, knowing this HAD to be a dream, and not wanting to wake up. As he broke away, I felt my knees go weak as a result. "Wow," I couldn't help but say. "Ziggy was right."

"Huh?" he asked, confused.

"He'll kiss the girls and make them cry," I quoted to him, doing my best impersonation of the sultry female voice. _Speaking of crying_ , I thought, and decided I had to know the answer. "But what about all your . . . awkwardness about the whole 'gay' thing?"

He smiled, almost a leer, and said, "Hey, I kept saying it because I figured you would be less likely to suspect anything. During the leap, I . . . I had to say that. I was bein' monitored, by the Navy," he said, and turned around to shut off the stove. "I couldn't very well profess my love that way, especially with you trapped in time AND being Swiss-cheesed to boot." 

He had stumbled past it, but I caught it. "Profess your love?" I asked, turning him back to look down at those brown eyes, those iridescent eyes, the true windows to his soul.

"Yeah."

"But," I continued, mentally kicking myself as I did, "what about Tina? And this whole double date thing?"

"Tina?" he asked, for the first time looking chagrined. "Well, kid, she . . . uh . . . well, this whole double date thing was HER idea. She figured if I couldn't have you, maybe if I saw you were happy, I would be able to finally let you go. She's known how I felt about you since that whole thing with Dr. Ruth." 

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"And this girl?" I couldn't help but continue. "Who thinks I'm cute?"

"Hell, she ain't the only one," he admitted shyly.

I slowly let my arms drop, wondering what to do now. 

Quickly, before they dropped to my side, Al grabbed them and confidently placed them around his waist. "Now this is the point where we forget about cooking," he said. "Or, at least, cooking the food." With that, he brought my lips back down to his. 

After another wonderful lip lock, I gave him his leer back, saying, "Well, now, THAT kind of cooking I know how to do." And I promptly led him away to his bedroom, where we spent the rest of the night . . . REALLY cookin'.


End file.
